


Pharaoh

by swinchests



Series: Coming To [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Fluff, Modern Era, Reincarnation, bossuet is a good boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 03:39:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12050517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swinchests/pseuds/swinchests
Summary: Joly considers logistics. Bossuet does and does not.





	Pharaoh

“I can’t help but wonder,” Joly muttered into his cup of tea, “How many other times this has happened.”

Around his own, Lesgle laughed. The sound was exuberant and comforting— a kind of familiar that transcended the mortal. His laughter sunk into Joly’s bones, wrapped around his soul, and reminded him what _safe_ was. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if this is how it goes— _reincarnation_ , that is—” The word sounded ridiculous, when he said it out loud. Steam rose from his cup, warm on pink cheeks. “If the Hindus and the Buddhists were right, then it has to have happened before. Who knows how many lives we’ve lived?”

Smile lingering, Joly watched him consider it. Wheels turned behind ears; behind a smattering of silvering hair that still gave Joly dimples to see. It was strange, this person who he remembered so differently. The gray hair, the eyes that were several shades too dark— and yet he could recognize the thoughtful light within them. His lips were thinner, but curled just the same, crooked when his thoughts amused him. No matter what year, what name or life… his Bossuet was the same.

It was a wonder that they had managed, despite it all, to find each other again. That Lesgle had found _him_ , he supposed. They had sat in a restaurant no larger than this, on the morning in June. They had eaten oysters and ham, and the window beside their table had been facing the street. Joly had been sinking most assuredly into a seasonal cold. He remembered Grantaire, whose breath had begun to hint of wine, smirking at his congestion. The restaurant then had been no larger than the crowded coffee shop that they sat in now. The funeral of Lamarque was scheduled to start in a few hours. The old soul in him would not have expected a Google search to find someone who he had died with. One of them was well read; the other was smart on his feet.

“Perhaps!” Bossuet exclaimed, hands flying wildly off the table. “We must have existed forever. That makes me tired to think. What’s your fancy? I hope we lived in ancient Egypt; I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a Pharaoh.”

“Please.” It was a scoff, but without much behind it.

“No, I’m serious. You would have made a great king— but only in Egypt. You wouldn’t have the stomach to rule in Rome, or in Europe. From what I’ve read, though, Egypt has always seemed…”

“Easier? Blood doesn’t make me squeamish, you know.”

“No, not what I was going to say. More elegant. Less about the violence, more… subtle in rule. I can see you on a grand throne.” Broad fingers tapped excitedly on the table, on the side of his cup. A tightness in Joly’s throat made him worry it would spill— especially when Lesgle began to lean forward, closer to him, grinning toothily and low-voiced. “I’d have served you loyally. I’d bow to you now, if you wanted it.”

“ _Please_.” The color rising at the base of his neck earned a better laugh from the other. “I’m asking you a question, Bossuet.”

“What is it?”

“Why do we only remember these two? Why now?” It was a simple question, and deserved a simple answer. In his studious mind, it seemed like it should be rudimentary, and yet it certainly was not. Why should they be the keepers of the answer of the universe? What were they supposed to do with it? Though he kept his tone even, he could worry himself into oblivion if he thought on it too hard, especially alone. It seemed near cruel to place such weight on two sets of shoulders. Being the outlier made him nervous. A god might strike him down for the audacity.

All at once, the eyes on him turned soft. Bossuet leaned back— the look of a thousand years passing over his face. All was not lost, he remembered. They had seen hatred. They had seen violence. They had seen so little of the peace that settled in the slouch of the other’s shoulders— and yet, there it was. As if he had known it all along. “I’ve long since stopped questioning everything, cher.”  

**Author's Note:**

> I pulled out this old draft from ages ago, and it turns out, I really liked the characterization? So I tweaked a few things, and here it is. Just thought it would be nice to complete something, for once. The world needs more Bossuet.


End file.
